In the illustrious lineage of kings, Sṛñjaya’s son was the glorious and mighty Sahadeva. Sahadeva’s own son was Kuśāśva, renowned for his supreme righteousness. From Kuśāśva came Somadatta, a ruler of great power and virtue, and Somadatta’s son was famed as Kākutstha. Kākutstha’s own son, radiant and unconquerable, now dwells in this very city—his name is Sumati, celebrated for his brilliance. By the enduring grace of Ikṣvāku, all the kings of Vaiśālī are blessed with long life, nobility, valor, and unfailing righteousness. “Tonight,” said the sage, “we shall rest here in comfort. At dawn, O best of men, you should seek out King Janaka.” Sumati, resplendent with great splendor, heard of the arrival of the sage Viśvāmitra. At once, he returned, his fame preceding him. With utmost respect, accompanied by his teachers and relatives, he greeted Viśvāmitra with joined palms, inquiring after his well-being, and spoke with humility: “Blessed and favored am I, O sage, that you have entered my land. Having seen you, I count myself the most fortunate of all.” Now, listen to the next episode in the glorious Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmīki. After these warm exchanges, at the close of their conversation, King Sumati turned to the great sage and asked, “May you be blessed, O sage—who are these two youths with you? Their valor rivals the gods, their stride is like that of elephants and lions, heroic as tigers and bulls. With eyes as wide as lotus petals, bearing swords, bows, and quivers, they stand in the fullness of youth, as beautiful as the Aśvin twins. Arriving here unexpectedly, like immortals from the heavens, how have they come on foot, for what reason, and whose sons are they, O sage? They adorn this land as the moon and sun adorn the sky—alike in stature and bearing. Why have these best of men come along this difficult path, armed with such fine weapons? I wish to hear the truth from you.” Hearing the king’s words, Viśvāmitra recounted all that had transpired: their stay at Siddhāśrama, the slaying of the Rākṣasas, and the valor the two princes had shown. The king was filled with astonishment at Viśvāmitra’s account. He then honored the two sons of Daśaratha, worthy and mighty, according to the highest custom. Having received noble hospitality from King Sumati, the two princes, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa—the Raghavas—spent the night in comfort. The following morning, they set out toward Mithilā. As they approached the auspicious city of Janaka, all the sages praised Mithilā, exclaiming, “Excellent, excellent!” and honored her greatly. Near Mithilā, in a charming, ancient grove, Rāma noticed a deserted hermitage. Curious, he asked the foremost of sages, “O venerable one, this place appears to be a hermitage, yet it is empty of ascetics. Whose hermitage was this? I wish to know.” Viśvāmitra, skilled in speech, replied, “I will tell you, Rāghava. Listen closely. This is the hermitage that was cursed in anger by a great soul. It once belonged to the illustrious sage Gautama, a man of such radiance that even the gods revered him. Here, long ago, together with his wife Ahalyā, he practiced austerities for thousands of years. “One day, knowing that Gautama was absent, Indra, lord of Śacī, assumed the guise of the sage and approached Ahalyā. He spoke to her, ‘Those who desire union, O slender-waisted one, wait for the proper season. But I desire you now.’ Recognizing Indra in disguise, yet overcome by curiosity for the king of the gods, Ahalyā, lacking good judgment, consented. When their union was complete, she said, ‘I am satisfied, O lord of gods. Go quickly from here, and by all means protect both yourself and me from Gautama.’ “Indra, laughing, replied, ‘O beautiful-hipped one, I am satisfied and will depart as I came.’ But as he hurried away, fearful of Gautama’s wrath, he saw the great sage returning. Gautama, difficult for gods and demons to approach, shone with the power of his penance, carrying sacred fuel and kuśa grass. Indra, seeing him, grew pale with fear. “The virtuous Gautama, though steadfast in righteousness, was filled with anger at Indra’s deception. He said, ‘Taking my form, you have committed this wrong, O wicked-minded one. Therefore, you shall become fruitless!’ At once, the testicles of Indra, the thousand-eyed, fell to the ground. “Having thus cursed Indra, Gautama then turned to his wife and pronounced another curse: ‘For many thousands of years you shall dwell here, sustained only by air, fasting, scorched by penance, lying on ashes, unseen by all beings. Only when Rāma, the son of Daśaratha, enters this dreadful forest, shall you be purified.’” Thus, Viśvāmitra revealed to Rāma the history and sorrow that haunted that ancient, silent hermitage.